Page 322 of Salt Between the Wolves

"Good."

Apparently that was all the approval either of them would receive.

The elder turned toward the gathered witnesses as the wind swept across the cliff.

Far below, Ironfang stood against the mountains, beyond it stretched the valley, and beyond the valley lay the North.

The elder raised a single candle whose flame flickered but did not go out, and another was handed to Eira, a second to Soren.

For a moment they stood facing one another, each holding a small light against the vastness of the sky.

The symbolism was simple enough that even Ironfang could not overcomplicate it: two separate flames, two separate lives, two separate choices.

The elder spoke, not loudly, because she didn't need to, and everyone listened.

"Long before there were Alphas, there were promises."

The wind carried the words across the cliff.

"Long before there were laws, there were witnesses."

She looked toward the mountains.

"The mountains remember."

Then toward the valley.

"The valleys remember."

And toward the wolves gathered along the rocks beyond the ceremony.

"And the wolves remember."

Silence followed, ancient and comfortable, the sort of silence built by traditions older than memory.

Then the elder turned toward Eira, her voice remaining calm.

"Do you come here by your own will?"

It was a very different question from the one Eira had been asked at the beginning of her journey, one that spoke not of duty, obedience, or purity, but of choice.

Eira lifted her head.

"Yes."

The answer carried easily across the cliff.

The elder turned toward Soren.

"And you?"

"Yes."

The old woman nodded, satisfied, and then gestured for them to step forward.

The distance between them disappeared until only a single pace remained, only a single breath, and only the future waiting.

The elder looked from one of them to the other and, for a moment, said nothing as the wind moved through the dried herbs woven into their wreaths and the valley stretched far below toward the horizon.